‘I called this meeting of the Restaurants and Business Association to bring to your attention to the negative publicity we have been receiving in Mr. Jean Claude Dubois’ column in the Sunday newspaper. No one, and I mean no one, will escape his vitriolic attack on our restaurants. He looks for the slightest thing and blows it out of proportion. I know my business is off 30% since he published his review. I can’t handle that kind of loss. It’s as if he wants all of us to go out of business,’ Mr. Antonio Canali, owner of the The Italian Restaurant.
He continued, ‘Mr. Dubois reviews everything from the atmosphere, to the temperature of the food, to the consistency of the food, and what beverage he pairs with it which is his choice not the restaurants. We’re being dragged through the mud by this columnist. Bluntly stated, this dumb bastard took over from a man of integrity. We have a narcissistic son of a bitch with a God complex to put up with. If only he would give constructive criticism but instead he rips the food and restaurant up beyond repair. I would be happy to give him another meal if what he says is true but it’s not.
‘We must find a way to neutralize the bad publicity. I have complained to his newspaper but believe it or not since he started, he’s responsible for selling more papers than the last man because people can’t wait to see what restaurant he’s going to review next.
‘I did some digging. He was run out of the last town he worked in. It was smaller than Los Angeles and the restaurant owners had enough and got rid of him.’
‘Are you saying we should do the same thing,’ said the Egg Restaurant owner.
‘I’m saying we need to do whatever it takes to preserve our livelihoods. If things don’t improve, I’ll have to start laying staff off and possibly close. I don’t want to give this puffed-up peacock the satisfaction….Pierre raised his hand and would like to speak.’
‘I would like to adjourn this meeting to another location. A more private one and discuss a possible solution.’
‘Second, the motion. All say, aye to adjourn and move the meeting,’ said Mr. Canali.
‘Aye.’ said everyone in the restaurant.
The meeting was moved to the basement of Pierre’s French restaurant after it closed at 1 a.m.
##
‘Thank you for coming,’ Pierre began. ‘This basement is solid cement and since we are talking about a sensitive subject….well, walls could have ears where we were….I believe that we need to do more than just drive Mr. Dubois out because wherever he goes, he’ll it do it again to other restaurateurs. He gets satisfaction in hurting hard-working business people. So, I suggest we draw straws to see who has the responsibility of killing him.’
‘What? You can’t be serious?’ said Jose Mendez who owned the Mexican restaurant.
‘I am deadly serious, no pun intended. Short straw does the deed but we’re all in this together and if it’s done correctly, the police won’t know who to charge with murder.’
‘No, they’ll charge everyone here because we all had a hand in it,’ said the owner of the burger place.
‘Ah, but you ask what about opportunity? Each one of us will establish an alibi, whether it is working, home with family, at the ballgame, somewhere else other than with him when he dies.’
‘And what do you intend to off him with?’ said Jose Mendez.
‘He lives alone. He comes into our establishments alone. He eats alone. He probably has many enemies not just us that want him dead. His passion is wine although he drinks beer and other alcoholic drinks. There are several poisons that can be put in his beverage.’
‘Certainly not in one of our restaurants,’ said the owner of the Chinese Restaurant.
‘Someone breaks into his house, coats one of his wine glasses with Brucine, lets it dry, and waits for him to pour himself a glass when no one is around. The Brucine dries clear on the inside of the glass. It goes back into solution once the wine hits it. He drinks it and it looks like a heart attack. Once he’s dead, we pull the glass he drank from and replace it with another empty wine glass with the bottle next to the glass. The police test both the bottle and glass and come up empty. The autopsy shows a heart attack.’
‘I don’t know…’ said Jose Mendez.
‘Do any of you have a better plan? ...What do you want to do?...Nothing? Let our businesses die? All because some narcissistic jackass waltzes into town and wants to make a name for himself? I’ll do the deed. But we have to be unanimous on this and not tell our families, not another living soul,’ said Pierre. ‘Do I hear any dissent in the voting?’
The business owners sat silently going along with the plan. ‘Then all we need to do is to meet again to determine the time, and day. I think it should be done mid-week. Someone needs to find out where he lives. What his schedule is. What nights he’s home. Stuff like that. I will get the Brucine and the wine. Since he hates California wine so much, I will supply the finest French wine. All of us must go out and buy a bottle of French wine the week we do it. We must throw suspicion all around. Finding out what he drinks would be a big help but, if not, finding out where he buys his wine is just as good. Just not all of us go to the same place and buy a bottle of the same wine. Anything not to arouse suspicion by the cops. We’ll all be suspects but the key is to have alibis. Even me, I will have an alibi by having ballgame tickets that night.’
‘Are you sure this will work?’ said Jose Mendez.
‘No, but doing nothing isn’t a solution. You have your assignments. We will meet here next Tuesday. Adjourned.’
##
Andre, Pierre’s nephew, was the youngest and most agile of the aging restaurant owners. He found out where Jean Claude lived and staked out his place, following him to and fro, watching his every move. He saw where he bought his bottle of wine and went back and reported everything to the other owners.
Each made arrangements for their alibis and the restaurant owners purchased identical bottles of wine from different stores. The day came. Andre followed Jean Claude to the restaurant he was about to ruin and quickly went to his apartment getting in by using a credit card and sliding it along the lock. He put his gloves on before touching anything making sure to wipe the door and knob. He took the wine glass that was sitting on the table next to his bottle of wine and coated the inside with Brucine and waited for it to dry. He went down the hall and watched for him to return. Jean Claude came back, went into his place, opened the wine, and drank an entire glass not even savoring it.
‘The food tonight was so unbelievably bad, no one will ever return to this place after I write my review,’ he said aloud. He poured another glass of wine and drank half of it when he grabbed his chest like he was having a heart attack.
‘Damn food,’ he muttered. He went to the cupboard and pulled down some sodium bicarbonate of soda. He mixed it up and drank it but the pain got so bad that he passed out on the floor, dead. Andre heard the thunk and let himself in, taking the glass with the Brucine and replacing a clean wine glass from the cupboard. He placed it by the bottle, pouring a quarter of a glass a wine, pressing Jean Claude’s fingerprints on the glass and placing it by the bottle. He looked at the dead man and said, ‘Bon apatite. Have a nice trip to hell.’
He checked the hall before he left the room and went out the window as planned.
When Jean Claude didn’t show up to dictate his column to the typist the next day, the paper sent someone to his place to check on him and found him dead. The coroner came. CSI dusted for prints and took pictures.
The Major Case squad was called but with no evidence it was a homicide, they had nothing to go on.
Looking at the body, Miller said, ‘I told you someone was going to off him.’
‘You don’t know that until the autopsy comes back.’
‘Whatever the person or person used, I bet it won’t show up in a tox screen.’
##
‘Death by heart attack, said the coroner. ‘Tox screen came up empty. Sorry, I can’t help you boys. I ran every known substance including pufferfish poison like you had on that one case. Nothing, zip. Nada.’
‘Any chance it was potassium chloride?’ asked Kelby.
‘No needle marks. I checked thoroughly.’
‘Digitalis?’ questioned Miller.
‘He wasn’t on any heart medicine. According to you, he had many enemies but I can’t give you a cause of death except a heart attack.’
‘I hate to say it but someone has just got away with murder,’ said Kelby.
‘You’re probably right but without forensic evidence which I don’t have for you, you don’t have a case,’ replied the coroner.
‘I’d bet my pension it’s murder,’ said Miller.
‘Me too, partner but without the evidence, we can’t pick anyone up and question them.’
‘Maybe we need to go over the room again.’
‘CSI went over it three times. There were no fingerprints other than the dead man’s, no sign of a struggle, and no indication that he died other than natural causes,’ Kelby remarked.
‘You know several people had motives to get rid of him.’
‘Maybe, but there just isn’t any evidence to go on. Let it go.’
‘Damn,’ said Miller.
##
The coroner signed the death certificate Natural Causes. She didn’t know to look for Brucine.
Abut the author
Since becoming disabled in 2015, Maxine took up her passion for writing. She has been published several times in the Los Angeles Daily News, The Epoch Times, Nail Polish Stories, DarkWinterLit, BrightFlashLiteraryReview, OtherwiseEngagedLit, CafeLit, Maudlin House, and TheMetaworker.com.
Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)
